


Miss you when you're gone

by DracoPendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, First Time, Gay Sex, M/M, Overstimulation, Power Play, Sheriarty - Freeform, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoPendragon/pseuds/DracoPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock confronts Moriarty again, but on his own this time. And this time with some unexpected outcomes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss you when you're gone

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'I Can't Decide' by Scissor Sisters... It's just their song for me. You should listen to it if you haven't already.

Sherlock had decided to confront Moriarty alone; John didn’t need to be dragged into the situation again, and Sherlock also wanted a chance to talk privately to the consulting criminal. He unlocked the door to hotel room 546 of the Charing Cross, having swiped a key-card from the front desk and being led to the place by a leaflet that had been posted through the door to 221B earlier that evening. He hadn’t had time to see who was at the door, and seeing as John was with whichever girlfriend he currently had, Sherlock figured he could at least have some fun.

The room was brightly lit, and Moriarty was sat on the bed in a Westwood suit, surrounded by women Sherlock deduced to be strippers. Or exotic dancers, as Mrs Hudson would call them. Whatever. Either way, they didn’t stop performing when Sherlock entered, not noticing his presence. He cleared his throat quietly. All eyes fell on him, but he barely noticed. He was concentrating on Jim.

The other man looked up, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his cheek. ‘Sorry ladies, time to go,’ he said to the girls around him. They gathered their things and left the room obediently, some leering at Sherlock, others glaring at him on account of their unfinished business.

‘You know, it’s not easy having yourself a good time these days,’ Jim said conversationally. ‘All the sex, the scandals, the murders. I mean, who cares, really, about some celebrity affair that was destined to happen from the start?’

‘Why am I here?’ Sherlock asked, interrupting the criminal’s flow of speech.

‘You tell me, Sherlock, you’re the one who came here,’ replied Moriarty smugly.

‘I came because you left this.’ He removed the hotel leaflet from his pocket and flung it at the man on the bed.

‘Hmm. How did you figure out the room number?’

‘Elementary, my dear Jim,’ replied Sherlock, not questioning his use of the word ‘dear’. ‘546 on a numeric keypad spells JIM. Your room number is your name, that’s very big of you.’

He watched as Jim got up from the bed. ‘Well done, Sherlock Holmes,’ drawled the Irishman. ‘Where’s your little live-in pet?’ he asked, looking around.

‘John? Oh, he’s with some girlfriend or other; I wasn’t paying attention.’

‘You know, you did interrupt something. I thought they were quite taken with me,’ grinned the consulting criminal as he advanced towards Sherlock. ‘Of course, you’ve got to make sure they never start making declarations of love; that’s when you know it’s going a little too far. Especially with live-in ones.’

‘Why am I here?’ Sherlock asked again, looking to the side in a gesture of annoyance. ‘I think we know each other well enough that you can give me straight answers instead of riddles.’

‘I was bored, and you're the best distraction.’ Moriarty stopped just before the detective. He moved one of his hands up to frame Sherlock’s face, pressing it gently against the angled cheekbone. ‘You were always the best distraction.’

‘And what are you planning on doing with me?’ Sherlock asked, tilting his head into the touch. He knew the answer, of course, had always known how the consulting criminal felt about him. He still was not sure if he reciprocated.

‘I want to kiss you.’ Theirs was a consensual relationship, and of course there were limits. But they both shared a look that said it was okay to broaden those limits, even if only for this night. ‘And I also want to fuck you.’

No matter what Mycroft or anyone else said, sex did not alarm Sherlock. That was a ridiculous assumption. So why was his mouth not functioning?

‘My, my, you're all flustered,’ grinned Moriarty slyly, moving his head closer to Sherlock’s. His lips were hovering millimetres from Sherlock’s, whose heart was beating irregularly. ‘I’m laying off my job, just for tonight. Just for you,’ he whispered.

‘You don’t want to be the bad guy.’ Sherlock wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen, and leaned forward just slightly, but Jim pulled back teasingly.

‘I was just a loner before I met you,’ Jim admitted. ‘Until you got in my way. You just love to meddle, don’t you?’

‘Sometimes I just can't help myself.’

‘Me neither.’ Jim moved so that his lips were pressed against the detective’s. Sherlock was taken by surprise and gasped, giving the consulting criminal the opportunity to slip his tongue into his adversary’s mouth. Sherlock stayed still as Jim explored his mouth with his tongue, only drawing back from the contact when his lip was bitten.

He put a hand to his lip, and when he drew it back to observe it, there was a trace of blood across his pale fingers.

He watched Moriarty lick his crimson lips and move back a space before the criminal continued. ‘It’s such a bitch convincing people to like you these days,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure how you manage to draw such an audience without offending everyone.’

‘Me neither, to be honest,’ Sherlock admitted.

‘Are we still playing our game?’ Jim asked. ‘I don’t want to stop. It’s exhilarating, isn’t it? Such a buzz. Almost better than drugs.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Oh please. Don’t lie to me, I thought we’d gotten past that. But then I suppose, if lies were cats you’d be a litter.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This whole act you have, of doing what you do to please people,’ Jim explained. ‘It’s not really you, is it? It’s not why you do it. You love being clever, love showing off. Deep down, you hate yourself because you're different, but you still feel a sick sense of joy whenever you do something clever.’

‘How… how do you know that?’ Sherlock asked, confused by the accuracy with which his counterpart had encapsulated his emotions.

‘Because I am you, and you are me. Remember?’ Moriarty replied wearily as he closed the space between them. Sherlock kissed him, grabbing onto his arms and holding him close. Neither of them let go of the other, holding on as Moriarty directed them so that they fell onto the lush bed in a tangled heap of limbs.

‘How much have you had to drink?’ Sherlock asked as his scarf was tugged free from around his neck and his coat was awkwardly pulled from his body.

‘I’m not sure, detective,’ Jim replied as he began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt. ‘I lost count. I’m not drunk though, see? Completely coherent and otherwise functioning properly.

‘I’ve got to hand it to you, dear,’ he continued as he exposed the pale flesh previously hidden by purple shirt fabric. ‘This game; we’ve played by all the same rules. All along, we’ve been nice. Polite, even. You played by the rules I set, and I loved watching you dance. It only takes the truth to fool me.’ Sherlock’s trousers were being undone and pulled down so the detective was left with no clothes covering him. ‘Wouldn’t have figured you as one for going commando, but I suppose it makes sense.’

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but Jim hissed at him to shut up as he began undressing himself too. Sherlock did as he was told; talking about emotions was like picking at scabs for the both of them: it was bound to hurt and bring back memories that were unwanted.

He watched Jim reach for a pot of lube and understood what was going to happen. Jim looked at him, face softening as he searched for a sign of consent. It was still to be consensual, or else what was the point in the game?

Sherlock nodded.

Jim began with one finger, giving Sherlock time to adjust to the sensation. He curled it a while before fitting in another digit and scissoring them slowly. Sherlock breathed out, heavy and irregular as Jim prepared him.

He let Jim do what was needed and took with each action the sensation; the burning stretch of each finger as it was added, which came to be replaced by the blunt head of Moriarty’s cock; the feeling of being stuffed full suddenly replaced with a hollow emptiness, a switching cycle between the two as he was thrust into at a fast pace. Jim’s hand wrapped around his cock and Sherlock moaned loudly, hips arching to meet Moriarty’s fist as it slid up and down, path smoothed by the residual lubricant still clinging onto it. The elevation gave Jim more leeway with where he was aiming, and Sherlock gasped as his prostate was hit.

The consulting criminal grinned, wild and animalistic as he adjusted his thrusts so they were aimed to the spot they had hit before. Sherlock dropped all his guards and pretences, moaning as Jim pleasured him, thrusting constant as he used one hand to play with Sherlock’s exposed nipples while the other slid up and down the detective’s painfully hard length. Jim nipped and sucked at the detective’s neck, painting it with dark bruises the size and shade of plums.

Jim’s name was all Sherlock knew, repeating it like a prayer as the orchestra of stimulation across his body came to its final cadence. His prostate was hit once more and he climaxed, a cry falling from his lips that was murdered in its infancy as Jim pressed their lips together.

A couple of thrusts later and Jim came too, stilling his movements as he pulled back so the two of them were no longer kissing. He pulled out slowly and Sherlock inhaled deeply, compensating for the loss.

That sick, joyous feeling they had been discussing before rose up in Sherlock and the taste of bile flooded his mouth as he became fully aware of exactly what had happened. That sick sense of joy, brought about because that was the first time he had been touched so intimately, shared any such experience with someone else. Even though it hadn’t been love-fuelled, it had been passionate. And it had felt _so good._ Part of him hated himself for enjoying it so much, but the other parts overwhelmed that thought, wanting more, desperate for more.

Moriarty rolled over onto the bed beside the detective and turned to look at him.

‘Was I your first?’ he asked, voice laced with curiosity. Sherlock blushed. ‘Oh.’ Jim was grinning again, and he turned to stare up at the ceiling. ‘Was it good?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock answered truthfully, still catching his breath.

‘God, I could murder you,’ exhaled the consulting criminal.

‘What?’

‘You. I could kill you.’

‘Why? Does this not change anything? Was it not good enough?’ Sherlock asked.

‘This changes everything, you see. And don’t worry, it was perfectly adequate. Perhaps the best I’ve had ever. Definitely the best in a while.’

‘You’re worried,’ Sherlock said, ‘about getting too close. About entering this and not being able to walk away when we’re done.’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘I am you and you are me. But I wouldn’t kill you.’

‘No, because you need me. And I need you. I can list all the ways I’ve already planned your demise, you know,’ Jim said before he started reeling them off, using his fingers as a checklist. ‘I could throw you in a lake; feed you poison… I could bury you alive, but then you might crawl out with a knife and kill me when I’m sleeping.’

‘Are you going to do any of those?’

‘I could.’

‘Would you miss me?’

‘Yes. You’d probably go to Heaven.’

‘I may be on the side of the angels, but don’t think for one second that I am one of them.’

‘Don’t hang your head and cry, dear.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Of course.’

‘So where does this leave us then?’ Sherlock asked after a moment of silence.

‘I told you already, but did you listen?’

‘So we’re just going to continue like this?’

‘If you want to, of course.’

‘I do.’

Jim turned to look at Sherlock. ‘Alright then.’

‘I feel it could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

‘Just so.’

‘As long as you don’t try to kill me.’

‘I’m not promising anything,’ Moriarty said.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect you too.’ At his partner’s look of confusion, he added, ‘All part of the game, isn’t it? No promises.’

Jim smiled. Actually smiled. Not an evil grin, or a smirk, but an actual smile. He turned to look at Sherlock.

‘Shall we go for a ride?’

‘I’d love to,’ Sherlock said.

Jim kissed him once more before getting off the bed. They put on their clothes silently, and Sherlock moved to the mirror to marvel at the almost black bruises on his neck, standing in stark contrast against his porcelain skin.

‘Just marking territory,’ Jim supplied as he too studied the ovoid markings. ‘Feel free to leave some yourself next time.’

‘When will that be?’ Sherlock asked.

‘I’ll let you know.’ He went and shut all the blinds in the room and walked over to the door, holding it open for Sherlock. ‘Coming?’

Sherlock joined him and they walked out into the hall. Jim locked the door behind him before turning to look at the detective.

‘Where to? 221B, I expect.’

‘Not just yet,’ Sherlock smiled. ‘How about a date?’

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ Moriarty nodded.

Their hands interlocked by their sides and they walked downstairs together, out into the open London air.


End file.
